I've been working on this for years. It's that book everyone who wants to be a writer writes but can't seem to finish. This time, I'm finishing. My mom thought I wrote well. She clearly couldn't see through her bias but in her honor, I'm going to finish this. Here's a start to what I've already completed. Just wanted to share. I thought it might help motivate me to continue. (Another installment will be forthcoming...I have a lot of it written already but mind you, this is a DRAFT in progress...)
CHAPTER 1
As a little girl I dreamed of being a beautiful princess in a flowing gown of sparkling diamonds and rhinestones. My Prince was handsome, ingenuous and clearly adored me. Princesses spend life being doted on, never having to lift a finger. That life worked for me.
Sometimes dreams come true. Not this one. I’m more like Cinderella before the Fairy God Mother showed up. And my husband is no Prince. Case in point. We’re in the process of remodeling our all white, outdated kitchen. I’m shooting for a Tuscan look but my aim sucks. My husband of eleven years can’t help but rub it in.
“I feel like I’m drowning inside a French’s Mustard bottle.” Jake said.
“It’s supposed to be warm sun. It looked totally different in the magazine.”
“No worries, Carly. Toss in some prosciutto and mozzarella and you’ll have an Italian sub.”
No Prince here.
“You’re funny.” I stare at the can of mustard. “We should have gone with autumn breeze instead.”
Jake shrugs his shoulders and begins to clean up the paint supplies. “I’ll go back to the store and pick up the autumn breeze but we have to let this dry before we paint over it.”
“That’s fine. Sue’s coming over in a few minutes anyway. I told her I need her opinion on the color.”
“I’m sure she’ll have something enlightening to say,” he said, pounding the lid on the paint can.
“I told her I wanted her brutally honest opinion but now I’m not so sure.” Sometimes Sue’s mouth opens and things fly out before she can close it. Once I got hit with a partially chewed pea.
One cue, Sue Rowland, my best friend for the past five years, walks in through the garage door and stares at the yellow walls. “Wow. Suddenly I’m hungry. I’m thinking turkey on whole wheat.”
Jake stops pounding on the paint can. “Too late Sue, I already picked the mustard card. Try again.”
“Damn. I hate sloppy seconds. Okay, how about, whose baby crapped on your walls?”
“Oh my God, that’s it. Exactly.” Jake said.
I look closely at the walls but don’t see it. My kids never pooped mustard. Their poop was more like mashed green peas.
“I think the beige will look much better,” Sue said.
“It’s not beige. It’s autumn breeze.” I said.
“Autumn breeze. Beige. Whatever. As long as it’s not baby caca, it’ll look fine.”
Jake looks like he just won a bet. “I’m going to get the beige paint.” He pushes past the painting materials on the floor and leaves.
Sue sits at the kitchen table, picking on a dried food smudge with hot pink acrylic nails. “I’m bored. Let’s go to the coffee shop. ”
“I don’t feel like it. I’m frustrated. I need to do something physical. How about we go to Central Park and ride the off road trail and then get a coffee?”
Exercise to Sue is like going to the gynecologist. She only does it once a year. Or less, if possible. “Um, I’m thinking no. You forced me into that boot camp class last week and my thighs still burn so I’m good for a while.” She gets up from the table and heads for the door. “Call you later.”
Thirty minutes later I’m at Central Park unloading my bike from the back of my Expedition, ready to ride the three mile off road trail.
I like riding in the woods. The trees form a canopy over the trail letting the sun peak through just enough to see if I’m about to squash a snake. Squirrels dart onto the path, stuffing their fat cheeks with nuts then retreat quickly back into the trees. I feel like a foreigner in an unfamiliar country. I don’t belong here but they tolerate my visit.
The trail is nothing more than a break in ground cover with dirt as the base and a spattering of rocks and debris tossed around by animals, hikers and Mother Nature. Rounding my second mile I see a family of deer and slow down to get a better look. The fawns are closest but too busy munching on mini trees to notice me. The mother stands guard behind them, keeping a sharp eye pinned on me while the buck is further back, eating. The male-female dynamic is universal. The mother watches the kids while the father is off doing his thing. Her deep brown eyes fixate on me, silently warning me to stay clear. I coo happy sentences like, “You’re so pretty” and “Hi there mommy deer” but she doesn’t budge. I move on.
This trail has intense hills and twists but at a decent clip I can finish the three miles in about 30 minutes. If I don’t have to pee. Sometimes though, it’s like jumping on a trampoline a week after giving birth. Today all of the ups and downs kick my bladder into overdrive.
Sadly, my bladder never went back to normal after being pregnant. How could it? Take a five ton elephant and set it on top of a semi truck tire for nine months. Probably that’s what my bladder looked like after child birth and ten years later.
I jump off my bike, dodge the rocks and sticks covering the ground and head into the woods for a spot to squat. The smell of honeysuckle captures my nose and I’m tempted to pick a flower to suck its sweet nectar. Miniature sized Dogwoods bunched together with last season’s fallen leaves topped on a mound of dirt provide the perfect spot. I check behind me just in case. The key to peeing in the woods is in the positioning. I push my shorts down and balance my rear in a squat position. If I’m lucky, I won’t back splash.
I have a to-go roll of toilet paper but never seem to remember to put it in my pack. Searching the ground for something that won’t scrape up the sensitive skin of my unmentionables, I find a plump leaf to use instead. As I wipe, I notice something shiny under the leaves beside me. Curiosity may have killed the cat but it won’t stop me from waddling over, pants at my ankles. My balance is odd and I can’t help but fall on top of a pile of leaves and dirt, where the shiny something is sticking out of and that’s when I see it. A diamond ring. A gigantic diamond ring. And it’s still on the ring finger.
I am completely still for about five seconds and then it hits me. The sticky, sour smell of something so disgusting it makes the acid in my stomach rise to my throat. A sick curiosity forces me to move more leaves, revealing the body of a woman.
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